


finish the daydream

by psikeval



Series: find some peace inside yourself; lay down your heavy load [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to remember what it was like, after Lafayette is gone.</p>
<p>Mulligan really wishes he could stop thinking shit like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	finish the daydream

 

On Lafayette’s last night in the city, neither of them can sleep.

It might be more accurate to say that Lafayette can’t sleep, and Mulligan sleeps lightly enough to be kept awake by that—the tense, shifting limbs of someone whose mind is too preoccupied for rest—but honestly, Hercules isn’t sure he’d be able to fall asleep anyway.

The only way to deal with things that end, he’s always found, is to pretend they won’t. Otherwise you waste your time anticipating change you can’t prevent, grieving future loss instead of holding on to the present. He doesn’t want to be that person, to lose sight of Lafayette here, now, in bed with him. Nobody’s going anywhere just yet.

But once he goes to sleep, wastes hours of the night on unconsciousness, it’ll be that much closer. Their little week-long coccoon of denial will be crushed by the morning.

Lafayette starts to move his arm, stops himself before he can elbow Hercules, and sighs miserably.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, flopping flat on his back. “I can sleep on the couch, if you like.”

Without hesitation, Mulligan puts an arm over Lafayette, hand spread over his hip and holding on too possessively for such a half-hearted offer of leaving. “Don’t you dare.”

Worst of it is that he needs Lafayette to go. Mulligan knows he was too abrupt with his clients today—not that he didn’t maintain the façade, but his job requires digging quite a bit deeper than just keeping up appearances. There could have been opportunities missed, information he didn’t seek out, too conscious of the dwindling hours in his last day with Lafayette.

That’s unacceptable, and he’s too good at what he does to let it continue.

Lafayette turns his head and noses at Mulligan’s cheek for a kiss, fingers reaching up to brush the side of Mulligan’s neck, sighing softly when he’s obliged. He kisses so sweetly, their passionate self-assured firebrand Lafayette, devoid of his usual impatience, and Hercules can’t quite bring himself to mention it aloud, for fear it’ll only make him self-conscious.

But it’s true. There’s a delicacy and gentleness to how Lafayette is with him, in these more subdued moments, born less of experience than a seemingly heartfelt desire to enjoy kissing Mulligan for its own sake, without an eye toward pushing for more.

He lets himself be drawn further on top of Lafayette and kisses his lips, sleepy and slow, without much real intent behind it. He just wants to remember what it was like, after Lafayette is gone.

Mulligan really wishes he could stop thinking shit like that.

As if he senses that he doesn’t have Hercules’ full attention, Lafayette’s hands slide down his chest and turn more purposeful, pinching and tugging his nipples into tight little peaks and then rubbing at them until Mulligan’s cock twitches sluggishly against his thigh and he groans into Lafayette’s mouth, and when the hell did Lafayette become so good at getting him worked up?

( _When you let him be_ , is the obvious answer. _When you taught him how_.)

“D’you— you want to? Again?”

“It’s what I love about you. So quick to catch on.”

“Oh, hush.” Hercules leans over a little awkwardly, because he’s aware of where Lafayette’s limbs are placed generally but doesn’t want to crush anything important in the dark, and fumbles to light the candle he keeps on his bedside table.

“I wanna see you,” he says, shrugging at Lafayette’s quizzically raised eyebrows, and something in Lafayette’s expression seems to melt at that. He sits up, takes Mulligan’s face in both his hands and kisses him soundly.

They’ve fucked recently enough—and with more than enough preparation, Herc’s hands slick and messy and Lafayette swearing at him to get on with it already—that he knows this time will be easy, but he still tests Lafayette with his fingers, just to be sure. His breath catches a little at how well he takes them, the little hissing groans when Mulligan strokes inside him.

Lafayette pulls a knee up to his chest and hooks his other leg around Mulligan’s waist. He’s lost so much of his self-consciousness, between learning how they fit best together and realizing how much it undoes Hercules to see him wanting this without shame, without the slightest hesitation.

It doesn’t mean Mulligan is above doing a little teasing of his own. He rubs his cock against the cleft of Lafayette’s ass, warm skin slightly sticky from the last time Mulligan came inside him—and isn’t that a pretty memory—and presses so the head of his dick catches just so against the slick, spread rim of him, never quite edging inside.

“Must you?” Lafayette asks like his voice isn’t unsteady, like Mulligan can’t look down and see him, lip bitten, his own cock twitching and growing hard against his belly the more he’s made to wait.

The low, guttural groan when Mulligan finally, slowly pushes inside him is fucking worth it. They haven’t actually done this twice before, not in one night, and that feels like a really big mistake now that Mulligan’s trying it. Lafayette is so easy for him, relaxed and perfect around his cock.

He’s already worked up, nerves making every breath ragged, and—it’s the way he arches his back, eyes fallen shut and mouth open around a soundless gasp. The way Lafayette looks like he’s been waiting forever just to feel this. It’s not something anybody in their right mind could ever get enough of.

“Good?” he asks anyway, because it never hurts to hear.

In answer, Lafayette braces his elbows on the bed and rolls his body in one smooth, sinuous motion, working himself onto Mulligan’s cock. His fingers twitch on the sheets when he’s taken every inch, completely full. “Good enough,” he says, breathless, with a ragged half-smile.

He’s only joking, but Mulligan still takes it as a challenge. With every thrust, he grinds his hips forward to press further, as far as he can into Lafayette, and every time, it’s enough to draw out a gasp, little involuntary movements of Lafayette’s hands or his knee or the arch of his neck, overwhelmed by the size of him and loving it, and that’s—Christ, that’s beautiful. He keeps at it, relentless, until gasps have turned to shameless little moans and Lafayette is clinging to his arms, the rest of him writhing while Mulligan fucks him.

“Did I say good enough?” he says, and the words are broken, cracking, breathless. “I meant perfect, that’s completely perfect, _please,_ Hercules—”

He drops down to kiss Lafayette, drags his teeth along his lower lip and kisses him again, open-mouthed, sliding his tongue along the side of Lafayette’s and savoring every sound he makes.

“What do you need?”

Lafayette just look at him helplessly, like he can’t think of a single thing, and pulls Mulligan back down to suck at his lower lip and then kiss it again, pliant and moaning around Hercules’ tongue as it slides over his. There’s no finesse to it any more, not with both of them jarred by every hard roll of Mulligan’s hips, but they can’t seem to stop.

It’s a small torture, dragging himself away from the softness of Lafayette’s mouth.

“Go ahead and use your hand,” says Mulligan, right against his ear, lips wet from kissing, close enough to hear his breath hitch. Then Hercules pushes himself up to watch.

It’s selfish, probably, wanting to look instead of help, but seeing Lafayette’s fingers wrapped so surely around his cock—he knows exactly how to touch himself and he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t hide, just chases what he wants and lets Mulligan see. It’s beautiful. His eyes are half-lidded, fluttering shut when he twists his wrist just so, and there’s a smile on his face again that Mulligan can’t help leaning down to kiss.

They work up a rhythm between them, Mulligan picking up speed to match the tension building in Lafayette’s body, the ever more frantic motions of his hand as he’s almost, almost there—

He fucks Lafayette through a loud, long, messy climax, keeps going when he’s gone blissfully slack but still holds onto Mulligan’s arms, until finally Hercules comes with his mouth on Lafayette’s throat, biting and sucking and groaning his way down to earth.

His body feels boneless as he pulls out and collapses onto the bed by Lafayette—or at least he tries to, but ends up still being clumsy enough to end up half on top of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, mouth half-pressed into the pillow, when his breathing is halfway normal again and he remembers how to speak. “I don’t mean to brag, but we are really good at this.”

Lafayette laughs more freely than he ever does, a soft snorting giggle that winds its way so surely into Mulligan’s heart and holds. “We are excellent in every way.”

“Mm.” He nuzzles in and starts lazily mouthing at Lafayette’s collarbone and throat, licking up sweat and still leaving his skin wetter than it was before.

“Ugh, stop that,” Lafayette grumbles, pulling him closer. “Like a dog slobbering at me.”

Mulligan immediately and loudly blows a raspberry against Lafayette’s neck, rewarded by more of that precious laughter and an incredibly halfhearted shove to his chest. He goes down easily, just to see what will happen, and Lafayette rolls with him, curled around Hercules’ ribs.

“I can’t stay awake,” he says, apologetic even as the words slur together with exhausted satisfaction, a pleased curve to his mouth as he rests his chin on soft solid muscle.

He strokes a hand over the mess of Lafayette’s hair. “You shouldn’t. Get some rest.”

Lafayette obeys in the pushiest way possible, shoving at the sleepy bulk of Hercules until he reluctantly turns on his side and lets Lafayette nestle against his back with one long arm slung around him. He holds on tight to Mulligan for only a few moments before his grip begins to slacken, breathing slow and warm where his mouth is pressed to Mulligan’s shoulders.

 

\--

 

There’s an awful ache in Mulligan’s chest when he wakes up and Lafayette has already left the bed. He can hear him rustling around somewhere near the front of the house—it isn’t as if he’s gone—but still, he opens his eyes and it’s already ending.

At least Hercules doesn’t have much time to feel sorry for himself before Lafayette walks into the room with a teacup balanced carefully in his hands. He’s half-dressed in borrowed trousers that don’t fit him at all, which would be an affront to Mulligan’s sensibilities as a tailor if it wasn’t so satisfying to see Lafayette in his clothes.

“I have brought you this from the goodness of my heart,” Lafayette informs him, placing his feet so carefully that the words occasionally falter. “I wouldn’t have, if I’d known how hard it would be to carry. Ha!” he adds triumphantly when the cup is in Mulligan’s hands.

He sets aside the tea and kisses Lafayette’s wrist instead, lips gentle on the thin skin, brushing a callous on the heel of his hand. Mulligan is even so far gone as to close his eyes and linger, just for a moment, before taking up the teacup again to spare himself whatever’s on Lafayatte’s face. Be it pity or bemusement or affection, Hercules doubts he’ll be able to handle it with dignity.

These are terrible times to be getting sentimental.

“Thanks,” he says, carefully focused on the familiar sight of the cup dwarfed by his hands.

After only a brief pause to consider how soft he’s become with age (and worse, how far he still might fall), Mulligan downs the tea in a few long gulps and goes to wash. They really should’ve done that last night. It’s distracting, dragging the wet cloth over soap and then scrubbing at the dried come on his skin while so very aware of Lafayette’s eyes on him.

From the bed, where Lafayette has taken a seat, there’s a loud and theatrical sigh. “Now there’s a sight I’m going to miss.”

Hercules half-turns to make a face at him. “It’ll miss you too, Gil.”

Lafayette’s gaze flicks down toward his cock, and Mulligan swallows, knowing they can’t and all too aware that if Lafayette wants him, he won’t find the strength to say no. “That as well,” is all Lafayette says, shrugging cheerfully. “But I meant the view as a whole. I’ll… well.”

His unsteady cough then is the closest Lafayette has come to acknowleding the separation ahead, and it should not make Mulligan feel so damned stricken. He clears his throat and goes about the rest of his ablutions, avoiding eye contact until he’s dressed.

Luckily, Mulligan has the ready-made distraction of dressing Lafayette to contend with; he always feels a little better when there’s work to be done with his hands. He’s taken on the project of replacing Lafayette’s uniform during his off time, between appointments or when other jobs were complete, over the past few days. Now there’s a neatly folded pile of clothes on the trunk by the door, all new except for Lafayette’s carefully mended coat.

Properly altering everything had been an experience, almost surreal, never entirely settling into his usual routine. He’s used to having a little less knowledge of the body a shirt will fit to, and measuring an inseam isn’t quite the same as mapping it with your tongue.

“Hey.” Mulligan cracks his neck, then tilts his chin at Lafayette. “Ready to wear something that fits?”

“I’m not sure you’ll like it half as much,” he answers, lounging back on the bed and idly examining the state of his fingernails. It’s hard to argue the point with him. Mulligan’s trousers have once again ridden so low on his hips that it’s a wonder they stay on at all.

“Get over here.”

Lafayette finally does, but first he shimmies out of his borrowed pants entirely, leaving them pooled on the floor, and walks over to Mulligan blithely naked. It was probably a tactical mistake, giving him an inkling of how much power he holds over Hercules.

They don’t have a lot of time, and he wastes too much of it helping Lafayette get dressed, but it’s too good a job to rush. He smooths the cuffs over Lafayette’s wrists, rubs his palms over the soft hair and warm skin and lean muscle of his chest and stomach before reluctantly buttoning the shirt, places a single kiss on Lafayette’s beautifully bitten neck before concealing it all with a cravat.

Most of his uniform has now been replaced. If he dies, it will be in the clothing Mulligan made for him.

How is there not a way to stop the part of his mind that thinks these things?

“Oh, and. Here.” He kneels to rifle through the chest, where he’d tucked one last gift to go along with Lafayette’s new boots. After a bit of rummaging he tosses the bundle of grey wool, neatly tied with twine, at Lafayette, who catches it while looking bemused. “For you.”

It’s impressive just how far Lafayette can raise his eyebrows. “You knitted socks for me?”

“Well, no,” he admits with a grin. “But I know someone.”

“You know half the world, I think.”

“More or less,” he agrees, the joke creaking slightly as he lurches to his feet. (When did his knees start being so difficult in the morning? When did he stop being as young as he feels?)

“Shall I fetch you a cane?” asks Lafayette dryly. He’s stepped forward and has one hand on Mulligan’s elbow to steady him.

“You should respect your fucking elders,” Mulligan answers, swatting him without any force.

“Oh! Then shall I fetch you a cane, _sir_?”

“Brat.”

“Invalid. I’m half-afraid to leave you.”

It cuts too close to the truth for either of them to ignore. Lafayette abruptly finds himself in need of something he left in the parlor, and the rest of his effects are packed in silence.

They’ve already talked through their plan for Lafayette’s departure, namely that it has to be more subtle than his foolhardy arrival. He’ll be leaving from the back door and walking down the alleyway to meet the carriage that will get him out of the city. Not that any of the British officers Mulligan has met seem enterprising enough to consider finding one of Washington’s generals right under their nose, but he has no intention of letting Lafayette be anything but safe, for as long as it’s in his power to do.

He kisses Lafayette by the door, so softly, and tries not to feel his heart in his throat, in his hands, in every part of him Lafayette touches, laid open like a wound. It shouldn’t hurt this much, he thinks, as if reason ever plays a large part in saying goodbye.

“Stay out of trouble,” he mutters gruffly to the floor. Hercules Mulligan, spy by trade and a consummate liar, unable to look his lover in the eye for what it might reveal.

Lafayette leans close and kisses his cheek. “And you.”

“Yeah. All right, get out of here.” He risks up a glance at the brittle set of Lafayette’s jaw and his carefully squared shoulders, hair neatly tied like it hasn’t been for days. One last sight of him, before Mulligan has to close the door.

It’s time he got back to work.

 


End file.
